Lord of Fire and Ice (18 page)

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Did you not?” Her brother gave the vessel a shove into the deep water of the cove as Brandr deposited her on a small trunk. “I never can tell when you’re joking, Katla. No matter. Safe travels.”

She stood, and the coracle bobbled dangerously. Brandr unfurled the sail.

“Can you swim, Katla?” he asked with maddening calm.

“No.”

The water temperature was so cold, few in the North bothered to learn, since the ability to swim would only prolong dying if a boat capsized. Better a clean, quick drowning than a miserable, desperate struggle against an end that would come in either case.

“Then I suggest you sit down,” Brandr said as the wind freshened and the coracle lifted in the water, quickening in the breeze.

She turned around on the trunk, facing forward so she didn’t have to look at his smug face for another heartbeat.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Malvar. Women are more fickle and changeable than the sea. She ought to have been ordered to accept the match.” Albrikt Gormson curled his lip in disdain. “Why her ball-less brothers even gave her a choice I’ll never know.”

Malvar Bloodaxe poured wine into two precious goblets of Frankish glass. He usually reserved these special vessels for celebrations. They’d have to do to console his ally in an especially ignominious defeat.

To be turned down in favor of a thrall.

It must gall Albrikt more than liquor on an open wound. If a woman used Malvar so sore, he’d have her tongue cut out and fried up with onions for his night meal.

He handed one of the goblets to Gormson.

“You wouldn’t have sailed across the North Sea to bring me this ill news unless you had a plan to counter it,” Bloodaxe said.

Gormson shrugged. “I had thought to attack the farmstead and so claim the harbor we need, but there’s a signal fire system among the islanders. Katla the Black would receive help in short order.”

Albrikt drained the wine and slammed the goblet down with far more force than the fragile glass would bear. A tiny fracture in the delicate stem bloomed near the bottom of the cup.

A muscle in Malvar’s cheek ticked, but he knew the value of controlling his ire. He simply marked down the ruined goblet to Albrikt’s account and knew, someday, the man would pay for this mistake as well.

“It seems fairly straightforward to me,” Malvar said. “You must send a small party ahead, advancing from the opposite side of the island, to disrupt the signal fire, and then you sail into the cove with three or four longships and overwhelm the residents.”

Gormson shook his head. “It’s not as simple as that. That cursed thrall she married used to be a captain in the Varangian guard,” the Stordman said. “He’s a fierce fighter.”

“One man among a couple dozen sheep.”

“You didn’t see him,” Albrikt said. “He’s is the sort who can rally others, and he has a military man’s eye. There were a number of goodly sized men in the household. I wouldn’t doubt Brandr Ulfson has started training them for defense.”

“Ulfson?” Malvar’s ears pricked at the name.

“
Ja
, Brandr the Far-Traveled has come home.”

“And recently wed. Don’t forget that,” Malvar said, rubbing salt into Gormson’s wounded pride. “Ulfson will be too interested in what’s under his new wife’s skirt to be wary. He’ll not be looking for an attack.”

Albrikt nodded slowly, seething resentment making his eyes narrow for a moment. “You’re right. The timing might make all the difference. We’ll take that cove by the end of next week.”

“Of course you will. The Old Ones have told me it will be so.”

Malvar smiled when Albrikt surreptitiously made the sign against evil. Fearful people were always more easy to control, and it amused him to think that Albrikt believed he could protect himself from the Old Ones with a mere gesture.

So
Brandr
Ulfson
has
returned. Interesting
.

There was bound to be a way for Malvar to use that information against the traveler’s father. It might be the last stone needed to crack Ulf Skallagrimsson’s flagging will. If nothing else, it would please him to inform the
jarl
that both his sons were about to fall into a trap from which there was no escape.

One their father’s weakness had made possible.

Katla’s back was as straight as a red pine as they continued to cut through the dark blue water of Hardanger Fjord. She turned her head to follow the flight of a pair of eagles headed for their aerie, and gripped the gunwale when the waves grew rough, but she never said a word.

The
old
proverb
is
right. “It’s the still and silent sea that drowns a man,”
Brandr thought ruefully.

Whenever Brandr tried talking to her, she pretended not to hear him. He’d expected her to sulk for a while, but the whole day was spent, and the dim purple smell of nightfall was on the brisk wind.

Even now she wouldn’t speak to him.

“Might as well talk to a tree,” he muttered as a light shower of rain pattered over them. He raised his voice. “There are a couple oilskin cloaks in that trunk, princess. Perhaps Your Highness would deign to fetch them out for us.”

That made her shoot him a glare over her shoulder that ought to have turned him to stone. But to his surprise, she seemed to acquiesce. She rose and opened the trunk.

And pulled out one cloak for herself.

She spread the oilskin over her shoulders and sat back down, still facing away from him.

Brandr tied off the tiller to keep the boat in trim and stomped to the center of the craft. He stood over her as the rain fell in stinging needles, but she gave no sign she was aware of his presence.

“Move,” he ordered when she continued to ignore him.

She drew her hood tighter around her face, snug and dry under the pelting rain.

Brandr bent over and yanked the trunk out from under her. A finger’s width of water had accumulated in the bottom of the hull. She gave a little yelp when her backside landed in it with a wet plop.

“Don’t expect an apology.”

Brandr opened the trunk and pulled out the remaining cloak. He flipped the oversized gear that could double as a tent around himself and made his way back to the tiller. Ordinarily, he enjoyed a bobbing vessel. Dancing with the sea to keep his balance was part of the fun of sailing, but his mood was too surly now to enjoy anything about this trip.

Especially since Katla had made it plain
she
wasn’t enjoying anything.

“You’ve no one to blame but yourself,” he growled.

“Really?” She moved back up to perch on the trunk, facing him this time. “Did I force my way onto this boat? No. Did you ask me if I wanted to come with you? No. I had no say in the matter at all.”

He untied the tiller and brought the heading of the prow around a point or two so they’d clear the rocky shoulder of mountain jutting into the fjord.

“Would you have come with me if I’d asked?”

“No.”

“Which explains why I didn’t.”

Now that she was faced toward him, he almost wished she wasn’t. Her eyes were filled with recrimination.

“What will happen if one of the children comes down with a fever? Suppose Haukon’s arm takes a turn for the worse. Will Finn know what to do?” she demanded. “Did it occur to you that there are people on Tysnes who need me?”

Did it occur to her that
he
needed her?

“I suspect you’ve taught a few of the women a thing or two about herbs and cures. Inga, for one, is more capable than you credit her.” A tightness about her mouth appeared and disappeared in flash. He wished he’d chosen a different example, but the point was valid. “The people of your household will be fine.”

Which was more than he could promise about their marriage at the moment.

“Brandr, this is not going to work,” she said with a heavy sigh. “You can’t settle all our disagreements by picking me up and carrying me off.”

“Want to bet?”

A man had to run with his strengths, and Katla made him weak in several ways. It was only fair he should use whatever advantages nature had given him.

“Oh, you’re bigger and stronger than me, I’ll grant you,” she admitted.

At
least
on
the
outside
. If Katla was sized to match her will, she’d be a giantess.

“Our marriage is but a sapling. It’ll never make a tree if we continue like this. We’ll have no peace if you treat me so.” She rose and glared at him. “And that’s a promise.”

The conversation obviously over, she turned around and plopped on the trunk, faced away from him.

Brandr stared at her back. Where was the soft, pliant woman from last night who’d admitted she cared for him?

The rain shower passed as quickly as it had come. They glided deeper into the fjord, the sides of the mountains enfolding the water in a snug green embrace.

Brandr inhaled deeply. The air smelled of pine and dark earth and the brisk tang of the sea.

The smell of home.

He sighed. If only he was bringing a willing bride home with him.

***

Twilight didn’t linger in the North. By the time Brandr maneuvered the coracle close to the steep bank, stars peeped though the scudding clouds. He leaned over the prow to loop a line around a tall boulder, then dropped the anchor stone off the stern.

“There are a few lights in the hills,” Katla said, pointing in the direction of one. “Will we venture out to see if the crofters can give us shelter?”

Brandr was mildly surprised she initiated a conversation, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“No. I want to speak to my brother about relations with the other families in the fjord before we stray far from the water,” he said. “You’ll allow that things may have changed over five years.”

“We’re asking only for a roof for a single night.”

“Last time I abandoned caution in a port, I ended up with an iron collar.”

She grimaced. “About that. I’m…sorry.”

His brows shot up. The woman constantly surprised him. An apology was the last thing he expected from her.

“Your brothers are the ones who clapped it on me.”

“But my stubbornness kept the collar there,” she admitted. “I shouldn’t have.”

He shrugged. “You wanted revenge for your husband. I understand that. It was a little misplaced, but your motives were sound. Besides, it’s a comfort to me now.”

“A comfort?”

“If something happens to me, it means you’ll feel bound to make someone else’s life miserable in my honor,” he said with a laugh.

She sank back down on the chest and covered her mouth with her hand. Her shoulders shook. He thought she was laughing with him for a moment, but then the starlight struck her glistening cheeks.

Loki’s sweaty balls, she’s crying.

Against a woman’s tears, there was no defense known to man. If Katla ever learned that little nugget of wisdom, he was done for.

“That’s what I’ve done, isn’t it?” she said with a sob. “I’ve made your life miserable.”

“Not completely.”

She sobbed louder.

She wouldn’t want him to lie, would she? The taint of thralldom was no light matter. It would be foolishness to pretend otherwise.

She made little whimpering sounds, obviously trying to stop crying and failing utterly at it.

“Katla, please. You don’t have to cry so.” He felt as useless as tits on a boar. “I promise I’ll never pick you up and carry you off again.”

Even as he said it, he feared that would be a difficult promise to keep. She vexed him so, he had a hard time imagining not carting her off again if the occasional called for it.

She shook her head. “That’s not why I’m crying.”

What
else
have
I
done
wrong?
he thought, but wisely refrained from saying.

“You’ll always bear the mark of iron because of me,” she said. “I want you to take your place as my husband in our household, but you’re right. The people will always see you as a thrall.” She loosed a moist hiccup. “A thrall I had to order to marry me.”

“No one put a knife to my throat.”

“No one had to,” she said with a sniff. “You already had an iron collar there.”

He cupped her chin and forced her to look up at him. “Even with a thrall’s collar, do you really think you could make me do something I didn’t want to do?”

“I made you kiss my foot.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “And you weren’t pleased with how I did it, were you?”

“Not the first time,” she admitted with a shy grin that faded quickly. “Are you saying I won’t be pleased with how you intend to be my husband?”

“No.” He hoped not. “I’m saying I went into this marriage freely.”

“Not because I gave you an order?”

He leaned down to kiss her softly. “No. And I didn’t drag you onto this boat because I want to ill-treat you either.”

“Why did you do it then?”

“Because I had to leave. There was no avoiding that. And I want you with me, Katla.” He hunkered down before her so he could look her eye to eye. “Life will separate us often enough, like as not. I didn’t see why we should be apart by choice so soon.”

“But I’ve done nothing but upend your life from the moment I laid eyes on you,” she admitted. “Why do you want me with you?”

Brandr was no coward, but he’d rather face a charge of Saracen cavalry than this one woman and her unending questions.

Especially when the answers involved love.

Love opened a heart for pain, for risk, for loss. But even though he’d never felt the like before, he’d recognized its stirring for a while now. It was time he named the swirling in his gut. He drew a deep breath.

“I want you with me because I love you, Katla.”

She inhaled sharply. “Why?”

He kissed her forehead with a resounding smack. “Because you ask too many questions. Now why don’t you see what Inga packed for us to eat while I set up a lean-to.”

Surprisingly enough, she swiped her eyes and obeyed him for once.

Could that be the secret to peace with a difficult woman? Was love the way of taming the she wolf?

I
could
admit
to
loving
Katla
all
day
, he thought as he strung a rope from the mast to the prow and draped his cloak and hers over it, tacking the corners to the gunwale on either side of the narrow craft. As shelters went, it wasn’t much, but it would turn the rain.

They made a thrifty meal of potted beef and cold barley buns, and washed it down with some of the mead he’d packed with the cargo. After a few rounds, all traces of Katla’s tears were gone, and she laughed at his tales of the oddities in distant Byzantium.

Finally, he pulled the
hudfat
from the trunk and spread it beneath the tent of cloaks. The supple leather sleeping bag was roomy enough for two to share body heat through the chill of a night on the water.

With any luck at all, he and his bride would share much more than that.

When he turned around, Katla was climbing over the stowed cargo and stepping across the narrow distance from the long-necked prow to the steep land.

“Where are you going?”

“To find a little privacy.” She alighted on a goat track and turned to face him from solid land. “You may have a bladder the size of a head of cabbage, but some of us aren’t so blessed.” She began climbing the switchbacked path up the slope. “There are bushes on the crest of the rise. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t stray far.” Brandr watched until she disappeared over the rise, and then dropped the front of his trousers and aimed off the port bow. He’d never considered the inequity of it before, but now that he gave the matter thought, it seemed to him nature had made some fairly simply things unnecessarily difficult for women.

Yet
another
time
, he thought as he relieved himself,
when
it’s good to be a man.

My
princess
is
used
to
a
lime-washed privy, not a bush.
He chuckled at the thought of her living rough for the short duration of their journey. Once they reached Jondal, he’d be able to offer her his private chamber and its thick bed of furs and a latrine built right onto the
jarlhof
, so she wouldn’t have to brave the bitter wind come winter.

After the discomforts of travel, she’d enjoy life in his brother’s hall.

He, on the other hand, could be just as satisfied with a
hudfat
in a rocking coracle.

Ja
, it was good to be a man.

Then he imagined Katla in glorious nakedness in that
hudfat
.

It was
very
good to be a man.

He thought about disrobing and waiting for her in the sleeping bag. Body heat was best shared with skin-on-skin contact. Then he decided he ought to watch for her descent on the starlit slope.

When she didn’t come, he cupped his mouth and called her name. His voice echoed against the sides of the fjord.

There was no answer.